's nostrils were assailed by a strong odour of leather
and horseflesh. She shuddered in spite of herself. It was the last
straw. As a rule she was not overparticular, but just then she was in
that state of nerves when little things fretted her. She said to
herself that a cattle car was the proper place for this young man. As
he spoke to the porter she listened resentfully, prepared to disapprove
of anything he might say. Said he:

"Mistuh Washin'ton Jeffe'son Bones, look at me carefully. Do you see
any dust upon my garments?"

"Yassuh, yassuh," chuckled the porter. "Don't see much else, suh."

"And could you--on a bet of about a dollar--undertake to put me in a
condition not to damage the seats?"

"Yassuh; sho' could, suh!"

"Go to it, then," said the stranger. "I'm after you."

He did not return for an hour. Then he was noticeably cleaner, and the
odour of horse was replaced by that of cigars, less objectionable to
Clyde. As he took his seat he glanced at her frankly, a shade of
drollery in his eye, as if he were quite aware of her disapproval, and
was amused by it. She stiffened a trifle, ignoring him utterly. Not by
a hair's breadth would she encourage this free-and-easy person.

For some hours she had been annoyed by the behaviour of a man several
seats away. Whenever she had glanced in his direction he had been
looking at her. Once he had smiled ingratiatingly. Clyde's life had not
included first-hand experiences of this kind, but she was able to
classify the man accurately. Still, there had been nothing definite to
complain of. Now this individual arose and came down the aisle. In his
hand was a book. He halted by her side.

"Beg pardon," said he. "Would you care to look at this?"

"No, thank you," she replied frigidly.

"It isn't bad," he persisted. "I'll leave it with you."

"Thank you, I don't want it," said Clyde. But nevertheless he dropped
the volume in her lap, smiling offensively.

"Look it over," said he. "I'll get it later."

Paying no attention to her indignant refusal, he walked down the aisle
to the smoking compartment. Clyde, a bright spot of anger on either
cheek, turned to Nita.

"I think I shall speak to the conductor."

"It's because you're so pretty," said Nita, with an air of vast
experience. "I've had the same thing, almost, happen to me. Back at
college--in the town, I mean--there was a boy----But perhaps I'd better
not say anything about it. He was very bold indeed!" She pu